Revenge Revisited
by Sherhooked
Summary: Set in the past during 3x21, what might of happened if something or someone prevented Killian from stopping his past self and Emma that night on the Jolly Roger? Side note - this is my first fanfic - ever. Be kind, review, thanks for reading :)
1. Chapter 1

Revenge Revisited

Hook stumbled down the docks, with the intriguing blonde clinging to his arm. She was like no one he had ever met. She had a fire inside her, the likes of which he hadn't seen since Milah. She stumbled, saying something about needing a rest. He was so close to his ship there was no way he was waiting now. Without a moment's hesitation he swept her up in his arms laughing, saying, "I've carried rum barrels heavier than you."

She laughed as he proudly welcomed her onboard his ship. He drunkenly bellowed, "Welcome to The Rolly Joger!"

A member of his crew scurried up to him, as the woman slipped out of his arms and gracefully back on to her feet. Leaning in, she reminded him of his promise of a nightcap and swayed away giggling.

The crew member, Mr. Smee, warned his captain, "There's something wrong here." But, in his currently inebriated state, the only thing wrong Hook knew of was he had a beautiful woman waiting for him in his cabin and Mr. Smee was still on board. Leaning in he reminded Smee of this, "I think you know what a nightcap means, means we want our privacy."

With that Smee shuffled off the ship, and Hook stumbled toward his quarters.

As Emma came down the steps into Hook's cabin she looked hurriedly around and saw Killian standing next to Hook's desk.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him urgently.

"I could ask you the same thing, you are supposed to be keeping him occupied!"

"I am."

"By bringing him back to my ship?"

"His Ship!" She looked up the steps anxiously, "I can try and keep him above deck, so you can get out."

Before they could implement this plan Hook sauntered down the stairs, only to find her standing at the bottom looking like she was ready to bolt back up

.

"I hope you're not having second thoughts," he slurred.

"No, I was just getting tired of waiting."

She reached out and grabbed the lapels of his leather coat and crashed her lips into his. Instantaneously, he wound his fingers into her hair, deepening their kiss as they swayed. His hook pressing into the small of her back, he leaned back momentarily breaking the kiss, realizing his form was far from good.

"My apologies, a woman as beautiful as yourself deserves my full and prompt attention."

He leaned in, to kiss her again backing her up against the edge of the desk. Killian had been watching from the shadows trying to skirt the edges of the room to get back up the stairs. But the behavior of his past self was becoming deplorable, drunk or not. Emma was his love, not some barmaid from a tavern to be used and then discarded. With the decision made he went to step forward and halt the proceedings, but his feet wouldn't, couldn't move. He looked down to see what had happened and could see the faint shimmer of magic holding him in place next to the wall. The same magic shimmered at his hands, preventing any movement on his part.

A long, low moan pulled him from his troubles. At first he thought his past self had hurt Emma, but when he looked at her face he realized pain was most certainly not the emotion being displayed there. While lost in his own problems, Hook and Emma had been making progress.

Hook had stopped kissing her, and was now nipping across her jaw line and down her neck. Trailing his tongue along the path his lips and teeth marked. His hook had caught her leg and pulled it around his waist. He was skimming his hook up her thigh, dragging her skirts up with it. He slid his hook between her legs, eliciting another moan from her lips.

She had one hand tangled in his hair, holding him to her. The other one splayed out on his chest. Her fingers tensing and releasing as he moved the hook between her thighs. For a man with as much rum in him as he had, he was amazingly adept and precise.

Killian watched as his past self explored and pawed at his Emma, doing things he had been dreaming of doing, was still longing to do. He was caught between anger, jealousy and shame. Anger that this other him, was touching her, drawing these reactions from her and she wasn't stopping him. Jealousy, because simply, it should be him. He'd worked so hard to change, better himself for her but this pirate who was the worst of him was getting her, taking her. Shame, because he was turned on watching his past self ravage her. The evidence of his arousal straining his leathers almost painfully, and he could do nothing to relieve his need.

Killian could see by the looks on both their faces this was not over, and he knew exactly where it would end because they were both too far gone to stop. He could also see by the look on his previous self's face he was getting fed up with Emma's clothes, they were in the way of the friction he wanted and the plans he had in mind.

As if reading Killian's mind, Hook removed his name's sake from between her legs, and brought the tip up between Emma's breasts, catching it on the edge of the fabric. She whimpered at the loss of contact between her legs, wanting – needing the friction. Her breath hitched as with one quick, rough motion he sliced the hook through dress, corset, and a thin chemise.

Hook sucked in a breath sharply, and Killian swallowed his own gasp. Emma hadn't gotten rid of her, not so era appropriate undergarments. Hook took in the black and red lace bra and panty set she was wearing, not sure what they were but loving the effect they were having on him. Hook slid the tip of his hook along one cup of her bra and than the other. He tugged a cup down, exposing her breast, and a hardened nipple.

He swirled circles around her nipple with his tongue, then latched on, sucking with an unexpected, but not unwelcome ferocity. He dragged his teeth across the nipple, and she arched her back thrusting her breast farther into his mouth. His hand pulled the other cup down and rolled the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Emma wanted more, to feel more, the ache in her core was growing – the build-up frustrating and wonderful. She wanted to see and touch more of him. She slid her hands down his chest to his vest and less nimbly than she would have liked unbuttoned it. She then moved her hands back up to his chest and shrugged the coat and the vest off his shoulders. He groaned at the feel of her fingers tracing along his arms and shoulders. Once his chest was exposed, she walked her fingers to the waistline of his pants, at first just toying with the strings then losing all patience and practically ripping them open and tugging them down his hips.

At the sudden drag of leather against his skin, he threw his head back and let out a low growl. Before he could recover her hand slipped down between them and grabbed his erect, and admittedly impressive manhood. She slid her fisted hand up and down, excruciatingly slow, and then gradually faster. He could feel his muscles starting to clench, but he wasn't ready yet, he wouldn't come unless he was doing it inside of her. He, grumbled a, "No," and moved her hand away from himself.

She was already so wet, so ready that when he ran his hook between her legs, over her quivering, aching folds it slipped a little drawing a thin line of blood. He switched to his other hand and inserted one finger inside her. Pumping up and down, up and down, adding a second finger as he went applying exquisite pressure to that little bundle of nerves pulsating at the apex of her thighs.

She gasped as her body clenched and she breathed out his name, "Hook!" She could tell what was coming and so could he. With a nip to her earlobe, and a skilled press of his thumb she came apart around him, shattering into a million glowing pieces, and slowly coming back together as he massaged her through her climax.

He looked down at her, with something like wonder heavily laced with lust, glowing in his eyes. He knew without a doubt she was like no other woman he had ever met, or would ever meet again. And he had to have her, be inside her – there was no other option.

Killian had been watching with horror and fascination as Emma fell apart at the touch of his former self. Moaning his name, making it sound like a prayer instead of a curse. His old self was now looking down at her like he wanted to devour her, like he was drowning and she was the only source of oxygen. It was predatory, possessive, full of desire. He watched as Hook removed his hand from her, then with no preamble lined himself up, and slammed inside of her, causing her to groan anew and arch her back impaling herself farther onto him. Killian bit his lip, stifling a moan.

Once, twice, he continued setting a grueling pace searching for his own release. It didn't take long. She had tangled her fingers in his hair, and yanked back as he continued to pound into her, only driving him crazier. He exhaled, with a shout, "Oh, Love, yes! Oh, love!" He reached his climax as she reached hers, but this time she screamed his name, _his_ name. "Killian!" And with that they were both spiraling down together. He loved the feeling of being inside her, feeling her walls grip him like a vice. She slumped into him, exhausted. He scooped her up and deposited her on the bed, where he dropped down next to her.

Killian was standing in the corner, the inside of his trousers soaked with his own release. He had completely come apart watching his past self with Emma. Her climax had been glorious, but then she'd called _him_ Killian. And he didn't know whether to be mad or jealous or what emotion should be dominating him at that moment. What he did know was he was sad. Sad because he didn't want anybody but him – the future him, to be making her feel the things she'd felt. Sad because she'd called out his name like that pirate she'd been with and the man he was currently were one in the same. It hurt. And now she was curled up on Hook's chest basking in post-coital bliss.

While still contemplating the evening's events the room around him started to go hazy as smoke enveloped him. When his vision cleared he was off the Jolly Roger and up against a wall in an alley. An all too familiar giggle reached his ears. Looking over he saw Rumplestiltskin watching him and cackling. He bowed low and asked, "How did you like my gift?"

Killian just stared, mouth agape. When his voice finally found him he stated, "It was you, you did that. Made me watch, kept me from interfering!" He didn't need to ask why the Dark One had pinned him to that wall. He knew what had made him feel compelled to force him to watch someone else, even if it was a version of himself ravage Emma. He shook his head, furious, knowing lashing out would do no good.

"I just wanted you to know what it's like to see someone else take what is yours." Rumplestiltskin laughed again, more cruelly this time and disappeared into the night. Killian dropped to his knees on the street. He stood up, filled with a new resolve. He had to go get his Swan.


	2. Chapter 2

Hope Rekindled

Disclaimer:

I do not own Once Upon A Time, or any of the characters.

It was brought to my attention, that the first chapter of this story has many similarities to another written by a different author. I just wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings; I did not take this other author's work for my own. I am very new to the world of fanfiction, both reading and writing it, and had no idea the other story even existed. I hope that clears up any confusion there might have been.

Side Note:

There will be at least one more chapter following this one. Thank you so much for your support and the interest you all have shown in this story. Read, enjoy, review!

She opened her eyes slowly. Her eyelids felt like they were made out of lead. As she took in her surroundings, the arm draped over her waist, the warm body pressing into her back, the deep methodical breathing filling up an otherwise silent room, the events of earlier in the evening rushed into her mind - lips crashing, flesh meeting, passion exploding. She just hoped Killian had gotten out before things had progressed too far with Hook. All she knew was he wasn't in the cabin now, so he had been able to leave unnoticed.

She propped herself up on her elbow, and looked down at the man passed out next to her. She had the strangest desire to run a finger over his eyebrow, and place a soft kiss on his lips, but she knew she had to leave and not have a trace of her presence left behind. She had to be nothing more than a rum-induced fantasy. Looking around the room, her gaze fell on the tattered remains of her outfit from earlier in the evening. Why had she let him use his hook to remove her clothes? What was she supposed to do now, it's not like she could walk off the Jolly Roger with nothing but her cloak around her shoulders.

She cast around the cabin hoping for a jolt of inspiration, when her eyes settled on the small closet in the corner. Tiptoeing over, she silently opened the door and took out a black shirt, which she quickly pulled over her head. It fell almost to her knees. She then found a pair of his leathers and was immensely grateful there was no mirror for her to see herself in. She was sure she made quite the picture in the oversized pirate garb. With a quick tug of her boots she was ready to go. Emma adjusted her cloak on her shoulders and flicked the hood over her head. Scooping up her clothes off the floor she padded up the stairs, across the deck and was off the Jolly Roger.

Even if Killian hadn't been witness to what happened in the cabin last night, how was she supposed to explain that she was wearing Hook's clothes and her own clothes were ripped to shreds? Yes, she'd lost herself in the moment and given in to weeks, months of pent up desire and frustration. But strangely, she didn't feel guilty about what had happened, so why was she so nervous about coming face-to-face with Killian? If she were being honest with herself, then the answer was simple, he viewed the man she met tonight and himself as two distinctly different people, she didn't. Killian would be hurt, jealous, and angry over what had transpired earlier.

Still caught up in thoughts over her dilemma, Emma didn't notice the man coming towards her down the street. She hurtled right into him, sending them both sprawling on the cobblestones.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying any attention- " she started telling the stranger, when he abruptly cut her off.

"Emma?" A familiar voice asked her. "Is that you?"

"Killian? Where did you come from? I was going to the tavern to look for you."

He hesitated, "Oh, I was getting worried, you were taking so long, I decided to come check on you." He took a good look at her now, trying to decide whether or not to bring up what he'd seen in the captain's cabin, when he noticed her attire. "What are you wearing, lass?"

She glanced down, "Oh, well, my dress sort of got torn." She held out the bundle of fabric in her arms as evidence.

"And your only option was wearing _his_ clothes?" He asked, full well knowing what had made that a necessity.

She wasn't sure how to answer; she could tell he was probing, wanting her to give him information about what had happened aboard the Jolly Roger. The silence between them was crushing the air out of her lungs; she had to say something, anything to get them moving.

"Why don't we start moving, we need to put some distance between ourselves and the Jolly Roger, I'll explain while we walk."

After they'd been walking for about twenty minutes and she still hadn't offered up an explanation, Killian asked again, "So, the outfit? What happened?"

The way he asked the question, the tone, the accusation, he knew. Oh, God, had he seen? Emma couldn't breathe again, much less put one foot in front of the other. She was either going to turn and face this or run into the woods to hide from how pained the man next to her looked. She made her decision.

"Let's make camp, we have to talk," was the answer she gave him.

After they silently gathered some wood, he set to making a fire while she gathered some berries from some nearby bushes. His heart was hammering in his chest. Did he really want to hear about her night of passion with his past self? How she had willingly given all of herself to that man who couldn't possibly understand the value of the treasure he'd had in his hands, how precious she was. But he had to know, if there was going to be any hope for a future for them he had to know, no matter the pain.

Once Killian had the fire going, he sat down on the ground next to it, she settled next to him, giving him a little space. She opened her mouth to try and explain, but before a single sound escaped her lips, he blurted out, "I saw. I saw you with him, I saw everything."

She didn't ask how, or why he had stayed. She just nodded her head quietly, almost like she'd been expecting the confession. His next question was simple, "Why?" His eyes, so deeply blue and usually filled with confidence and mirth, now looked broken and tainted with insecurity and pain.

"Because, he is you, you are him, you're the same," she whispered.

He looked stricken, "How can you say that? That _pirate_ is the worst of me. Hateful, vengeful, lost, empty, uncaring, he looked no farther than his own wants and desires. Is that truly how you see me?" By the time he finished his voice had increased in volume and intensity. She could see the hurt, the betrayal written all over his face. He continued while she was still caught in silence trying to decide how to explain her thoughts to him, "You let him do things with you, to you, that I have longed to do, still dream of doing, but you push me away, keep me at arm's length. You gave yourself to him, while you shut me out." His shoulders sagged, and the fight seemed to drain out of him, he looked like a man defeated.

She took a deep breath, "Killian, I know the way you view your past, the person you were in the past, and I understand why you look so disdainfully on that person. But without that person, you wouldn't be the man sitting next to me today. I accept the dashing rapscallion, and the idealistic lieutenant, the dark and the light, the good, the bad and everything in between. I love Hook," she took his hook in her hand, and held it next to her heart, "and I love Killian," she placed her other hand on his cheek, and ran her thumb across it, "because they're both you."

She moved her hand to the expanse of exposed skin on his chest, and traced a scar that ran part of the length of his sternum. "You see these scars and all you see are wounds, festering with anger and bitterness. Reminders of a past you feel you will never overcome. What I see are the scars of a man, who didn't let his anger and vengeance keep him from being the hero he is and always has been. They tell the story of a man who is so much more than he thinks he is. A man worthy of love, trust, respect."

She removed her hand, leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, and sat back. Looking up into his face, she saw silent tears tracing down his cheeks, and an expression of utter disbelief etched on his features.

"Emma, do you really believe that, feel that way about me?" He just couldn't believe anyone, much less the woman sitting in front of him could want him, love him, accept him. But, she did, he could see the truth of her words glowing in her eyes.

"Yes," was all she said, and that was all she needed to say, because that one word said everything one thousand words would fail to express. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, before angling her chin up and kissing her lips tenderly. They sat together a while, in a silence, no longer crushing but comforting. Emma moved back a little bit, putting some space between them.

"We need to get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." He nodded his agreement and helped her stand up. They laid out bedrolls and blankets. They would not make love tonight, he would just hold her, and that was more than enough. He would wake up to her next to him, her head on his shoulder, and a hand over his heart.


End file.
